


One Hell of a Knight

by WonderWolf



Series: Quit Dragon Me Around [3]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alive Laura Hale, Alpha Derek, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, BAMF Stiles, Canon-Typical Violence, Creepy Hunters, Declarations Of Love, Derek works at Medieval Times, Dragon Stiles Stilinski, Established Relationship, Everyone Is Alive, Feral Behavior, Feral Stiles Stilinski, Happy Ending, Knight Derek, M/M, Mild Gore, Modern Dragon AU, Threats of Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-11
Updated: 2015-04-11
Packaged: 2018-03-22 09:04:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3723145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WonderWolf/pseuds/WonderWolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Derek,” Stiles whispers, licking his lips and trying again when Derek doesn’t react. A little louder this time, he mumbles, “Derek.”</p>
<p>Derek’s head whips up from where he sits on his horse in the corner, waiting for the green knight to complete the new obstacle course. Derek’s eyes squint as he searches the red stands, stopping once they find him.</p>
<p>“Hey, Big Guy, I’m in a bit of trouble,” Stiles says softly, eyeing the roaming hunters warily, “three men just snuck in. They chased me the entire way here and…uh, they’re dragon hunters.”</p>
<p>(Or, Stiles just wants to see his boyfriend perform in the Medieval Times show and not die before he’s reached old age, but hunters have another idea).</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Hell of a Knight

**Author's Note:**

> This is the third part of my Dragon series, it can be read as a standalone if you want, I guess? But there are direct references to the past 2 parts and I think it’s more enjoyable if you’ve read the others first. 
> 
> Thank you to Silverdancer for betaing!

“ _Did you try talking to him about how you feel? Maybe saying something like, ‘Derek, I really want to meet your pack now’,_ ” Scott’s muffled voice suggests. 

Stiles digs through the dumpster, sitting on the metal ledge as his hands search for small treasures. His head is cocked to the side, holding the cellphone securely between his shoulder and ear. 

“I tried that already, he still said he wanted to wait,” Stiles grumbles, “he won’t even take me to see him perform at the castle because all of his pack works there. He just smiles and says that he’s ‘waiting for the right time’. What the hell does that even mean? We’ve been dating six months, surely there was a ‘right time’ somewhere during that span of time!” He rants angrily.

“ _I’m sorry, Stiles_ …”

“It’s not your fault,” Stiles sighs. He didn’t understand why Derek wouldn’t want him to meet his pack yet—unless, perhaps, he was ashamed to be dating such a low-class shifter? “Do you think he’s embarrassed of me?” Stiles blurts. 

“ _I don’t know, man_ …” Scott mumbles dejectedly. Stiles frowns down at the mound of garbage in front of him. If anyone understood what he was going through, it was Scott. They’ve both been struggling to have relationships outside each other for years, never able to find someone willing to stay with either of them once they discovered they were dragons. That is, of course, until Derek showed up. But even now, the paranoia and fear sneak in, wondering if he will ever truly be accepted by Derek and that it is only a matter of time before Derek gives in and dumps him.

On reflex, Stiles grabs at the thin leather string around his neck, holding tightly onto the precious silver and black ring that dangles from it. It’s the only gift he’s ever gotten from Derek since his boyfriend prefers to express his affection in other ways. Primarily, he shows it through sex, but sometimes just by cuddling together in Derek’s apartment, lying in bed and enjoying each other’s company. He doesn’t know what he would do if Derek ever decides to leave him; probably mope inside a landfill somewhere for weeks. The thought sends a shudder through him.

“How’s Melissa?” Stiles asks, changing the subject. Scott left the day before to go visit his mom for a week. It isn’t abnormal for them to go and visit their old town for a week at a time, if not longer. It’s a lonely and secluded life as a dragon, so they make sure to cherish what family they do have left.

“ _She’s doing well, staying busy with work at the hospital. She says she and your dad have been hanging out more often and she’s making sure that he’s eating healthily."_

Stiles smirks, “I’m sure he loves that.”

_“Yeah, in fact, they’ve been acting—”_

The line goes dead. Stiles stares at the phone in confusion, pressing buttons to bring it back to life, but the phone remains useless. He frowns and tosses the cellphone into the trash pile as he climbs out of it. 

His feet land on the ground with a soft thud and he brushes the dirt of his palms as he rubs them on his pants. He had found some hair clips that he shoved in his pockets, but other than that, this was a small haul.

He starts to make his way home, striding towards the trees, when the hairs on the back of his neck raise, feeling eyes on him. He swivels around, but sees nothing.

“Hello?” He calls out warily. A tiny snap of a twig has him turning his head slightly to the right where he sees them. A group of 5 or 6 threatening looking men, watching him with predatory looks—guns in their hands. Hunters. 

Oh shit.

Stiles bolts for the trees, running in a zig-zag pattern as bullets hit the ground by his feet. Once he reaches the thick line of trees, he pushes himself to run faster and further, not knowing where he’s going, just knowing he has to get as far away from them as possible.

The forest feels more dense than Stiles remembers. Branches cut his arms and scrape against his face, leaving thin lines of red in their wake; slanted rocks and thick roots trip up his feet, causing him to slip and stumble, fighting to keep his balance as he races through the foliage.

Whoops of laughter and yells can be heard behind him, faint enough that he can’t understand their words, but still knowing the promise of danger the voices carry.

A woosh of air leaves his lungs as he slams into the ground, his ankle is bent under a root at an ugly angle, the pain graciously numbed by the adrenaline coursing through his body. Stiles groans lowly as he pushes himself up to his feet, ignoring the ache that flares to life in the limb as he pushes his weight onto it. He doesn’t have much time left, those precious seconds he’s already lost having lessened the space between him and the hunters.

“You’re fast, dragon, I’ll give you that. But it won’t save you,” a raspy voice chuckles only a few feet away, the middle-aged man it belongs to sauntering closer. His amused eyes trail across Stiles, a sickening smirk forming on his face as if he were able to smell the fear on his prey.

Stiles winces as he tries to step away but backs into the wide trunk of a tree. His heart skips a beat as the realization that he’s officially trapped dawns on him.

“Dragon? I’m not a dragon. Just a helpless human here— one-hundred and forty-seven pounds of sarcasm and squishy human,” Stiles lies, licking his dry lips nervously and raising his hands in surrender, “so you and your buddies need to leave me alone before my dad finds out you’ve been chasing me. He’s the sheriff, you know. Doesn’t take too kindly to assholes with guns harassing his son.” It’s a long shot, but pulling the my-dad-is-a-sheriff card has gotten him out of some bad situations before, it was certainly worth the try.

The hunter’s grin grows sharp as he advances even closer, “Too bad your pop’s the sheriff a few counties over, eh?” Stiles flinches as a rough hand presses a steel knife against his throat, “That’s right, kid. We know all about ya. Been watching you for a few weeks now and we know, for a fact, you’re the dragon we’re looking for,” the man’s face stills barely an inch from his own and leans even closer to whisper, “You’re awfully cute when you shift, you know; all that lean muscle and little moles everywhere. We’ll get good money for your dragon hide once you’re dead, but that doesn’t mean we can’t have a little _fun_ first.”

Stiles almost retches as the smell of the man’s breath, putrid like rotting flesh and dirt, invades his nostrils from the too-close proximity. His thin hands latch onto the muscled arm that holds the metal against his throat, not trying to push the man away, but rather ensuring that he won’t be able to escape. The blade remains a constant warning pressure against him, reminding him what’s at stake if this doesn’t work.

The hunter’s eyebrows raise in interest, clearly noticing that Stiles isn’t pushing him away, but clearly mistaking the action for something else. “Whaddaya say, little dragon? Wanna play?” He smiles widely, revealing plenty of missing teeth among the stained remains of the others.

“Yeah,” Stiles says breathlessly, grinning with a mouthful of sharp teeth.

The hunter’s eyes widen as Stiles’s eyes glow a threatening golden, his hands extending into claws that dig painfully into the man’s arm, drawing out a steady flow of blood. Stiles visualizes an inferno quickly growing inside of him, a tornado of flames spinning and enveloping him from the inside, begging to be released. The heat is comforting within him, even as his hands quake in fear.

“Yeah, I wanna play,” Stiles growls through the thick fangs, taking a deep breath through his nose, pulling in more and more air. The man reacts instantly at the sign of danger, plunging the blade into Stiles’s throat the same moment that Stiles breathes a fiery wave, pushing it out from his diaphragm with great force.

The grip on his throat disappears as the knife clatters to the forest floor, dirt instantly clinging to the blood coating the blade. Stiles holds fast on the man’s arm, his talons keeping the hunter close like an anchor as he burns and screams in agony. Stiles watches, horrified, as the man’s flesh bubbles and boils, burnt skin already starting to flake off his cheeks and neck. 

At the sound of yells coming closer, Stiles releases his hold on the hunter and flees. Smoke is flowing out of his nostrils as he runs, choking him as he gasps for breath. He presses a shaking hand against his throat, feeling the blood spilling steadily out. It isn’t deep enough to kill him, but he’s losing a lot of blood. A wound like this will take him longer to heal and he doesn’t have the time to wait for that to happen. His ankle is already healing, a sprain being an easier problem to fix, but not enough for him to be able to easily or comfortably put his weight on it.

Stiles hobbles forward as fast as he can, trying to blink away the images of a human figure on fire, his cries still ringing in his ears. He’s never attacked anyone before, he’s never had to, he’s never-

He’s never been in danger like this before.

A large, off-white castle enters his view and Stiles chokes on a sob, relief spreading through his body and making his legs weak. The hunters will know he went inside, not having anywhere else nearby to run to, but inside lies safety, Stiles knows. Inside is Derek and his pack.

Stiles pushes all of his weight into his shoulder, forcing the wooden castle doors open with general ease. He sneaks in through the thin gap, immediately locking the doors after him.

The castle lobby is dim and void of life, only medieval decorations and booths adorned with sellable trinkets to be found. Stiles limps across the massive entry room, his wide eyes taking in the stunning atmosphere that he hadn’t noticed when he had stolen Derek’s sword. To be fair, his sole focus at the time had been on finding the source of the delicious smell. 

Despite the glass booths and bright, happy colors, it almost feels like being transported back in time. Many different flags hang from the ceiling, a variety of different crests on them all. Swords decorate the otherwise blank walls and full suits of armor stand guard in front of every entrance and exit.

Stiles scoffs at the idea of a nice first meeting with the pack now, glancing down as his blood drips tiny stains into the carpet. Any chance of leaving a good impression has surely flown out the window as Stiles knowingly brings danger to their work, bloody and injured, asking for protection and refuge. Stiles and Derek have been dating for a while, but that doesn’t guarantee that the alpha or his pack will agree to keep him safe—not when there are angry hunters with weapons banging at their door and demanding the dragon be turned over to them. But it is worth a try.

Stiles looks behind him at the ominously dark doorway where the hunters would be soon. He sighs and trudges weakly towards the arena, biting down on his tongue as his vision sways and tilts.

A barrage sounds can be heard through the thick doors; the knights shouting as they compete, the heavy thuds of their horses charging, the painful crash of armor hitting the ground, and the ecstatic cheers from the crowd—A crowd that, by the sounds of it, consisted of hundreds. 

Stiles reaches up and presses his palm against his wound, applying pressure and hoping it might be enough to get the blood flow to slow down. With his other hand, he pulls the door open just enough to slip through without drawing attention to himself.

The Medieval Times arena is massive, bigger than Stiles remembers. Granted, the last time he had been here it was during the night and the stadium had been completely empty. Now, nearly every seat is filled with a smiling or cheering patron, only a single vacant seat every few rows. Stiles’s senses are overwhelmed by the onslaught of the stadium lights, the smell of the food and ear-splitting sounds. He blinks his eyes rapidly, trying to push the shift back as he focuses on one thing at a time. The smell of cooked chicken is thick and heavenly in the air, plates of fried chicken and potatoes placed neatly in front of every seat next to glasses of wine and juices. The roar of the crowd is booming, the cacophony a strange mix of cheers, laughter, and boos at the knights. 

The stands surrounding the sandy ring are barely lit in stark contrast to the brightness of the ring in the middle. The darkness envelopes Stiles, providing him some anonymity as he shuffles weakly around the back rows to find an empty seat as far from the entrance as possible. As he nears a good location, his vision swims suddenly, causing him to hurriedly lurch forward and plop down in the seat. He doesn’t have a direct view of the doors to keep an eye on in case the hunters come in, but if he turns his head to the left he can see just enough of it to be able to hide before they spot him.

Stiles tugs the napkin loose from under his empty plate, holding the cloth against his still bleeding throat. Blinking the stars out of his vision, he glances over to see the family next to him staring with similar looks of shock.

Stiles smiles warmly at them and waves the napkin casually, “I work backstage, don’t worry. It’s fake blood from one of the knights,” he lies easily. The family all seem instantly placated, nodding and accepting his explanation without a second thought as they turn back to the show. Within moments, their section erupts into wild cheers. 

“The white knight has been defeated!” A woman’s voice announces enthusiastically, her voice echoing off the walls. She’s standing in the sand, wearing a long black renaissance dress that matches her dark hair that hangs down to her chest. She’s stunningly beautiful, even from so far away. He recognizes her to be Laura, having seen many photos of Derek and his sisters scattered around Derek’s loft. Her red lips are pulled into an impish grin as she claps the curly-haired knight on the back. He’s frowning and waving dejectedly towards the white section of the stands before he walks off. “The red knight advances on to the next round!”

Stiles’s area celebrates loudly, whistling and whooping at the announcement. Stiles blinks slowly, his mind sluggish as he spots the red knight mounting his horse in the ring. He’s broad shouldered with dark hair, but it isn’t until he turns around and smirks up at the audience that Stiles realizes he’s sitting in Derek’s section.

There are five knights in the sand, all of them on their horses and looking in amusement as Laura bellows, “Ladies and Gentleman, I think it’s time we stir things up, don’t you?” The crowd responds with a deafening roar, but Laura’s voice thunders over the noise, “It’s time for a joust!”

The burly knight, a young male with dark skin and a stoic expression, clothed in royal blue attire leads his horse to the left end of the ring. On the opposite end, a woman with bright blonde hair and shining red and gold armor sits on her horse, waiting for the game to start with a confident smirk on her lips. Stiles takes a deep breath, realizing this is the first time he’s truly seeing Derek’s pack. They all appear to be in their twenties, young and full of attitude, like Stiles. A bud of hope grows in his chest that maybe, just maybe, they might like him despite the utter disaster this is likely to turn out to be.

The two knights charge at each other, their lances colliding in the middle with a loud, splintering crack. The crowd holds their breath, waiting for someone to fall when the blue knight doubles over and hits the ground in a forward roll.

The entire blue section groans simultaneously, some of the patrons throwing their flags, hats, or trinkets to the floor in frustration. Stiles chuckles to himself, having had no idea that audience got so invested in the show.

As the remaining four knights line up in the center of the ring, Laura chatters on about the next bout of challenges they’ll face. Stiles’s attention fades out as he pulls the napkin away from his neck and sees it’s drenched in blood. He prods the wound with his fingers, wincing at the tenderness, but exhales in relief that it’s no longer open.

Stiles sags into his seat, glad that at least he doesn’t have to worry about blood loss anymore. Just as he thinks things might be getting better, a movement off to the side catches his eye. Three rugged men sneakily make their way into the arena, spreading out and scanning the crowd. Stiles dips lower into his seat, his heart picking up pace, pounding harshly in his chest.

It wouldn’t take them long to find him if they’re splitting up, but they can’t risk causing a scene around all these people. That might not stop them from trying anyway.

Stiles hangs his head in frustration at what he’s about to do. He doesn’t want to ruin Derek’s show, doesn’t want to bother him while he is working—but he has no choice.

“Derek,” Stiles whispers, licking his lips and trying again when Derek doesn’t react. A little louder this time, he mumbles, “ _Derek_.”

Derek’s head whips up from where he sits on his horse in the corner, waiting for the green knight to complete the new obstacle course. Derek’s eyes squint as he searches the red stands, stopping once they find him. ‘ _Stiles?’_ his mouth forms, a question on his lips as he tilts his head in confusion. 

“Hey, Big Guy, I’m in a bit of trouble,” Stiles says softly, eyeing the roaming hunters warily, “three men just snuck in. They chased me the entire way here and…uh, they’re dragon hunters,” He adds the last part quickly, not wanting Derek to think they’re after his pack when their target is really Stiles. “I’m sorry I led them here, but I could really use your help. _Please_.”

Derek’s face morphs into a blank mask, but he nods and motions for one of the squires to come over, whispering in their ear before sending them off in the same direction the white and blue knights went.

“And the green knight, as usual, finishes with a perfect score!” Laura announces and the green section explodes with chants, stomps, and waving their banners enthusiastically. The beautiful, wavy-haired brunette in green armor grins and waves at them as she rides into a corner, waiting for the next knight to go. “Up next is our yellow knight!”

Stiles risks a glance around the stands, spotting a hunter one section over and getting closer by the minute. He can’t risk moving from his place without drawing their attention to him; he can only stay where he is and hope they don’t notice him before the show stops. If he can just make it to intermission, he can blend in with the crowd and make his way towards Derek. The thought gives him hope as he turns his attention back to the arena, willing himself to look like he fits in with the people around him.

The yellow knight, a young woman with straight brown hair tied back in a high ponytail, rides into the center of the ring with a cocky smirk. It’s obviously Cora, Derek’s younger sister—even without having already seen the family photos, the resemblance between the Hale siblings is unmistakable. “Let’s get this party started!” Cora yells, her group whistling and applauding in approval. She lifts her javelin and charges forward on her horse, throwing the spear through the compact target with ease.

The other sections boo loudly as Cora bows haughtily atop her horse, seemingly unmoved by the commotion.

“Another perfect score, give it up for our yellow knight!” Laura says. Stiles claps along with the crowd, his heartbeat picking up again once he sees Derek enter the middle of the ring. After a long wait, he was finally going to get to see his boyfriend perform.

The feeling of two hands tight on his shoulders, tugging him out of his seat, has him regretting ever turning away from the hunters. Why did he stop watching them? How could he be so stupid? He swings his arm back, smashing his elbow against the soft throat of the person grabbing him. The hands instantly let go as Stiles swings around to face his attacker.

“Dude, what the fuck,” a curly-haired, skinny man croaks from the ground, his hand rubbing against his pale throat. Behind him stands a smirking man with short hair, thick muscles and dark skin. They look exactly like the two knights –white and blue- that had been eliminated earlier during the show.

“Sorry, I thought… You guys are Derek’s betas?” Stiles asks lowly, his eyes flitting nervously over to see the hunters striding towards them, predatory grins on their faces. Stiles blanches, instinctually stepping closer to the two werewolves.

“Let’s talk after,” the muscular beta says, ignoring the sounds of people nearby shushing them. His hand wraps around Stiles’s bicep and drags him towards a door at the end of the stands.

“We’ll be safe backstage for now,” the curly-haired one says, shutting the door behind them and locking it. He turns to Stiles, holding out a hand, “Nice to finally meet you, I’m Isaac,” he gestures to the other man, “This is Boyd, Derek’s second in command.”

“Hi, uh, I’m—”

“Stiles. We know,” Boyd says flatly.

“Derek talks about you a lot,” Isaac grins cheekily and gestures for him to follow as they go down the steps and enter a stable where horse after horse stand inside wooden stalls, chewing hay or peering at them with interest. “Welcome to our lovely stables. To your right you will see stalls and horses, and to your left you will see…more stalls and horses, but with the added bonus of the office, though I wouldn’t recommend going in there. Laura doesn’t like people going into her office without her permission.”

“Erica stole a donut off her desk one time,” Boyd explains.

“Not just _any_ donut, _the_ beloved donut she bought to cheer herself up with after her breakup with Braeden,” Isaac says, turning toward Stiles to add, “She’s been locking her door ever since.”

Silence falls heavily between the three of them and Stiles shifts awkwardly on his feet, not knowing how to make a good impression on these strangers, “I’ve got to say, I imagined meeting you guys under a lot better circumstances. Over a nice dinner or something. I don’t think leading a group of hunters while covered in blood probably makes for a very good start.” 

Boyd shrugs, walking over to a nearby bucket and coming back with a damp sponge, “Sounds like a day ending in ‘y’ to me.” Stiles takes the sponge and smiles at him gratefully before wiping at the dried blood coating his neck. He’ll likely smell like horse after this, but it’ll probably be easier on Derek’s senses than the stench of blood.

Isaac bites his lip, looking unsure and blurting, “How come you didn’t want to meet us before now?”

“What do you mean?” Stiles asks, startled. “I’ve been asking to meet you guys for months now. Derek’s the one that wanted us to wait. I’ve been starting to worry he’s ashamed of me or something,” Stiles laughs weakly, the joke falling flat even to his ears.

Isaac looks at him sympathetically, “He’s probably just nervous about whether or not we’ll like you. Having the pack approve of a partner is very important, especially for an alpha.”

Stiles snorts and spreads his arms wide, gesturing exaggeratedly. “Obviously that shouldn’t even be a concern. _Everyone_ likes me.” The offhand comment causes Isaac to let out a surprised bark of laughter and even coaxes a small smile out of Boyd.

“Maybe when you don’t reek of blood and dirt,” Boyd deadpans.

“Better than urine,” Stiles quips, placing the dirty sponge on the ground now that he’s feeling relatively clean again. “I’m pretty proud of myself for not peeing my pants back there, thank you very much. I had to turn someone into extra crispy toast today, give a guy a break.”

Isaac quirks an eyebrow. “Extra crispy toast?” Stiles opens his mouth on a retort, but a heavy slam reverberates through the stable, the sound originating from somewhere beyond the office. The loud noise startles him to his feet, his nerves increasing since he can’t see what created the noise from this angle.

“What was that?” Stiles hisses. Isaac smirks, shooting a conspiring look with Boyd.

“That was our angry alpha losing the competition early so that he can come check up on his boyfriend,” Isaac says with a shit-eating grin.

From the corner of his eye, Stiles sees a red figure darting towards him. He barely manages to face Derek before the man’s rough hands are on his face. Derek’s pale green eyes quickly sweep over him, searching for injuries, his brows scrunched together in concern.

“You smell like blood. _A lot_ of blood,” Derek snarls.

“The hunters got in a good shot,” Stiles says with a lopsided smile, trying not to let it show how much he loves Derek looking worried over him. It’s been only a few hours since they last saw each other, but the threat of impending death certainly has had its impact. Stiles leans forward, wrapping his arms around Derek and pressing his face into his neck. His breaths come in quicker as he thinks about the hunters in the other room, still waiting to kidnap him and sell his skin. What if they aren’t deterred by the protection of Derek’s pack? What if they hurt the pack to get to him? What if they hurt _Derek_? The idea sends a new wave of panic through him, his eyes scrunching shut against the fear.

“You’re okay,” Derek says, rubbing Stiles’s back. “They’re not going to get you, you’re okay.”

Stiles pulls back and nods, blinking at the ground, unable to help but wonder if Derek comforts his pack this way too. He hopes he’ll get to find out.

“What do the hunters want from you exactly?” Isaac asks, eyeing Stiles curiously.

“They want to skin me and sell it for money,” Stiles admits, faux-casually. Isaac and Boyd both balk, looking greatly disturbed by the idea. 

The practice of selling dragon hide isn’t talked about much despite it having been around for centuries, but Dragon skin is a well-known rare commodity that can be sold for extensive prices to bidders in illegal markets. It can be used to make items and clothing or it can be a decoration around someone’s house. Their insides can be sold as well, the organs and various parts are used by many witches and warlocks in the supernatural community for brews and potions. It doesn’t matter that they were people, what matters is that their body is worth millions—Stiles learned that the hard way, having lost his mom to hunters years ago.

Derek’s eyes blaze red. “We won’t let them take you. You’re safe here.”

Stiles smiles sadly, memories of his mother’s death weighing his shoulders down, “I shouldn’t have come here. This was so selfish, I shouldn’t have dragged you into this mess—”

“We’ve been dating for half a year, Stiles! You think I’m not going to protect you, given the chance? To fight for you?” Derek snarls, “You’re staying here. End of argument.”

Stiles reaches out, his thumb caressing Derek’s hand. “And what if they hurt you? Or your betas? I can’t ask you to put yourselves at risk for me,” Stiles says shakily.

Derek grabs him and pulls him into another hug, his arms wrapping protectively around Stiles’s torso and head, holding him close. 

“We can handle them, just trust me,” Derek whispers, his voice wavering slightly when he adds, “I can’t lose you.”

Stiles’s eyes shut, scrunching tightly at the confession that meant so much coming from Derek. It’s the closest he’s ever come to saying, “I love you”, and Stiles can’t help but wonder, if he were to confess his own love now, if Derek would say it back.

Stiles shudders as he pulls away. He takes a deep breath, forcing a smile on his face.

“Yeah, I know, I’m way too great in bed to lose to some pesky hunters,” Stiles replies cockily, his hand dragging a path down Derek’s shoulder and arm.

The sound of someone clearing their throat makes them jolt apart, having forgotten that others were still in the room. Boyd has a faint smirk on his face, amused by the display. Isaac, however, looks like he had been forced to swallow something sour.

“That’s sweet and all, really, I just want to vomit rainbows right now,” Isaac says dully, “but do you think we can talk about what we’re going to do about the hunters waiting for us on the other side of that door?”

“What’s there to discuss?” Derek asks. “Obviously, we’re going to kill them.”

“They have weapons,” Stiles points out.

Derek raises an eyebrow and lifts a hand, sprouting claws at the tips of his fingers. “And we’re werewolves.”

Stiles rolls his eyes, “That doesn’t make you invin—”

A powerful blast blows them off their feet, sending them crashing to the ground along with bricks and debris. There’s a gaping hole where the end of the right side of the hallway used to be, five shapes standing in the middle, surrounded by a thick air of dust and dirt. The hunters step forward, three of them have their weapons trained on the werewolves while a fourth, a stocky man and with scars across his face, holds his hand out, a light shimmer emitting from his fingertips. At the front of the group is the man from the forest, his face severely burned and warped, but not enough to stop him from smiling eerily at them.

“Sorry to intrude, but we really got tired of waiting,” the burned hunter says, his grin widening as he looks down at Stiles. “I think it’s time we end this chase, don’t you, kid?”

From beside him, Derek lunges forward, his claws tearing through the torched man’s neck. As he drops lifelessly to the ground, Derek quickly turns his shifted body towards the next hunter, pouncing at him. Boyd, Isaac, and Stiles take their cues, running forward to attack. Stiles manages to claw the stocky hunter’s stomach before he’s sent flying backwards with the wave of a hand. A tall, lanky hunter swiftly lowers his weapon and grabs a pipe, plunging it into Derek’s stomach just before he reaches his target.

Derek seems to freeze, the pipe protruding through his body a sickening sight that stops Stiles’s heart momentarily.

“Derek!” Stiles panics, darting towards him. But, to his horror, he can’t push himself off the floor. His hands are locked behind him, a thin, glowing purple tendril of magic enveloping them. He tries to shift, calling the fire forward, but nothing comes. Not a single talon or fang appears. He’s trapped.

He struggles to his feet using his elbows, shocked to see Boyd and Isaac floating in the air just feet away. The purple glow is wrapped around their necks as they struggle to get it to release them, clawing at it desperately with their human hands.

Stiles’s shoulders slump in defeat, his breaths coming in quickly as panic sets in. Despite his concerns, he had truly thought he had a chance, that the wolves could protect him from being killed and skinned for sale. He had been so sure it would work out in the end, that he wouldn’t die like his mom and leave Scott, his dad, or Derek alone. But here he is. Maybe they could have handled the hunters had they all been human, but not this. They can’t win against a warlock.

“If you let them go, I’ll go with you,” Stiles rasps, his heart sinking lower and lower with every spoken word as he binds his fate. “I won’t put up a fuss, I won’t struggle, I won’t try to leave. Let them live and I’ll come willingly.”

The scarred hunter smirks, his hand still raised in the air. “Either way, you’re coming with us. You can’t win, you have nothing to bargain with.”

Stiles deflates and glances back at Isaac and Boyd. Their faces are turning an ugly shade of purple, their lips starting to become blue. Isaac looks at him pleadingly, whether asking him not to go or to help save them, he isn’t sure. Either way, it’s his fault for dragging them into this, for putting the pack in danger. It’s time he takes responsibility for himself.

He risks a look at Derek, whose face is pallid and covered in blood as he lies on the ground. Despite it all, he’s shaking his head weakly at Stiles, his eyes full of terror for him.

“Please,” Stiles asks, his voice cracking painfully as he turns back to the hunters. “ _Please_. You don’t gain anything by killing them. You’re after me.”

The four hunters look at each other before shrugging carelessly. The one with the scar lowers his hands, sending the werewolves tumbling to the ground with a thud.

This might be his last chance; he knows he has to say it before he leaves. He has to let Derek know.

“I love you,” Stiles whimpers, biting his lip to stop it from trembling after. Agony is etched on Derek’s features, his mouth futilely trying to form words that he’s unable to voice through the blood pouring down his chin.

“Let’s go, kid,” the scarred hunter orders, turning and stepping over the dead hunter’s body and through the hole.

Stiles ducks his head and obediently follows them. He quickly turns back for another moment, his eyes connecting with Isaac’s. The beta looks terrified so Stiles smiles in an attempt to lessen his fear and nods towards Derek, whose body is slumped on the ground, passed out from the pain and loss of blood.

“Make sure he heals, okay? And… he’ll need someone to look after him now that I’m gone,” Stiles says. “Make sure he’s okay, yeah? Emotionally, I mean. And tell him…” Stiles sucks in a breath through his clenched teeth, tears beginning to track their way down his face. He frantically wipes them away with his shoulders so the hunters won’t see. “Tell him it isn’t his fault.” Because if there’s one thing Derek’s sure to do, it’s blame himself.

At Isaac’s nod, Stiles smiles gratefully and turns back to where the hunters are waiting impatiently.

“That was beautiful,” the tall hunter mocks. Stiles grits his teeth.

“Since when do warlocks hunt with humans anyway?” He bites out, glaring at the back of the warlock’s head.

The warlock snorts, turning to look at him with his lip curled up in a nasty smile. “By hunting you, I get free ingredients,” He rakes his eyes down Stiles’s body. “Plus, I’m sure we could sell any of your extra parts at the highest cost.”

Stiles glowers at his hands, trying once again to force his shift forward, but to no avail. The magic is too strong. “If you could have just used your magic on me from the beginning, why the long chase?”

One of the other hunters, pale with a beak-shaped nose, grins. “Where’s the fun in that?”

Stiles rolls his eyes. “How movie-villain of you. Really. I’m so impressed right now. When do I get to hear the overdone monologue?”

The fist crashing into the side of his face isn’t expected, but it probably should have been. It knocks him off balance without the use of his arms, sending him face first into the ground. Stiles spits dirt out of his mouth as he rolls onto his side.

“You need to learn when to shut the fuck up, kid,” the beak-nosed hunter barks.

Stiles grins back stubbornly. “I said I’d come with you willingly, I didn’t say silently.”

“We can always kill you now,” the thin hunter snaps, “don’t push your luck.”

Stiles’s teeth clack together, his mouth instantly closing tightly at the comment. He frowns at the ground as he struggles to his feet and quietly resumes their walk through the forest. He looks back at the castle that’s still within their sight; he shouldn’t goad them until they’re far enough away from the pack. He can’t risk them turning around and slaughtering the pack over Stiles’s impudent behavior. 

He takes a calming breath, steeling himself to be patient and wait until their guard is down to attack. The warlock can’t keep his magic going forever; it requires a constant stream of energy and concentration. It’s only a matter of time before Stiles can fight back, as long as they don't kill him first.

“Hurry up,” the pale hunter barks. Stiles has fallen behind, wrapped up in his thoughts. He hastily picks up his pace, catching up to the group when a silver arrow zips through the air, hitting the warlock directly in the heart.

From there, it feels like everything slows down.

The warlock drops to the ground like a stringless puppet, his eyes and mouth wide as he lands on his stomach, lifeless. The other hunters are stunned, aiming their guns in the direction the arrow had come from. Stiles doesn’t waste any more time, realizing the magic is gone as he regains movement in his hands.

The shift tears through him faster than ever before in his fury. He grows and grows in size; thick, white, protective scales engulfing him as his wings spread wide and free. His clothes are shredded, decorating the forest floor with pieces of fabric. Smoke pours out of his nostrils as he angrily eyes the men near him. His eyes glow a furious red as they scramble to get away; his jaw opening wide to reveal massive razor-sharp teeth, the edges of his mouth pulling up in a threatening mimicry of a grin. Stiles lunges downward, ignoring the distant sounds of gunfire as he snatches the pale hunter in his jaws and squeezes the juice from his body.

Blood flows heavily, staining the white scales and hairs on his chin a violent red as he carelessly drops the dead body onto the ground. The last two figures are darting through the woods in separate directions. Stiles locks onto one and soars forward, keeping his wings behind him so he can maneuver between the trees. He grabs the back of the man’s shirt with his front teeth, using his momentum to swing the body into a nearby tree, amused by the resounding crack it engenders.

The body crumples to the ground, not moving at all, so Stiles steps closer, sniffing at the form to see if it’s still alive. The man groans weakly, shifting onto his side with his eyes still closed. Stiles licks his lips absently, tasting something metallic that seems familiar, but nothing springs to mind. He lifts a claw, reaching forward and slashing across the man’s throat in a single swoop. Satisfied that he’s killed the bad human, he sits back and looks around for the last survivor.

“Stiles.”

Stiles swings around, baring his red teeth and snarling lowly at the person in front of him. The man has thick black hair and stubble, his blood-soaked shirt tattered and barely hanging onto his body. He’s leaning against a tree, his arms wrapped protectively around a large, still-healing wound on his stomach. Stiles lashes out, smashing the already injured man against the trunk and pinning him there. He leans close, growling and blowing smoke out of his nostrils.

“Stiles,” the man gasps in pain, staring into the dragon’s eyes desperately. “Come on, it’s me. It’s Derek.”

Stiles’s claws dig into the man’s torso, eliciting a cry of pain. The man’s covered in blood, but smells like a strong shifter, like danger. He can’t be trusted, he might be with the bad men.

“Please, Stiles. Allison killed the last one. They’re all dead. Come back to me,” the man whispers, raising a weak hand to scratch affectionately underneath Stiles’s chin. Stiles blinks in confusion, the gesture feeling so familiar, but he isn’t sure why. “Come back. I love you. You’re safe. I’ve got you. You’re safe."

_I love you._

_Safe_. 

Stiles shrinks back, withdrawing his clawed hand as he stares down at the shifter in confusion. He’s familiar, but why? Stiles growls in frustration, angry that he can’t remember, doesn’t know what’s safe or where to go. He’s so far from home, he isn’t even sure how to get back.

“Stiles,” the shifter rises to his feet, wobbling slightly as he inches slowly closer. His hand pulls something shiny from his pants’ pocket and he offers it to Stiles, his palm open and welcoming. Stiles leans closer, curious and entranced by the silver and black ring that glitters in the hand. “You dropped it when you transformed.”

But Stiles isn’t listening, his gaze glued to the object, memories flooding through his mind.

_“What’s that?” Stiles asked curiously._

_“A family heirloom. It’s been in my family for generations. I thought it might have a good amount of memories attached to it,” Derek explained with pink-tinted ears._

_“You know we’ve only been dating a month, right?” Stiles asked with a cheeky grin, pleased by Derek's attempt at romancing him._

_“It doesn’t have to mean anything,” Derek said defensively, handing curling around the necklace as if to hide it._

_“What if I want it to mean something?” Stiles asked, his steady voice showing his seriousness. He wanted it to mean everything._

Stiles feels himself shrinking, his scales receding and his eyes returning to their normal whiskey brown. “Derek?” He asks meekly, taking in the sickly pale man swaying in front of him. “Derek, oh my god!” He rushes forward and wraps his arms around Derek’s neck, following him to the ground when his knees collapse.

“Stiles,” Derek mumbles weakly, pressing his face tightly into his neck. His body trembles under the strain of sitting upright, his wounds not nearly healed enough yet. “'Love you.”

“It’s okay, I know, I love you too,” Stiles whispers, trailing his fingers through Derek’s blood-slick hair. The movement relaxes Derek, encouraging his shoulders to sag and his body to push his weight further onto Stiles. “Time to rest, Big Guy, you need to heal. I’ll be right here,” Stiles hums, continuing to run his fingers through Derek’s hair as he slips into unconsciousness.

They’re like that when the pack finds them moments later, their alpha wrapped in his lover’s arms. Safe.

 

Five weeks later…

“Are you ready to go on?” Erica, the stunning red-and-gold knight, asks. She grins widely in amusement as Stiles fidgets nervously and pulls at his itchy costume.

“I feel like I’m going to throw up,” Stiles groans, wiping his sweaty palms against his pants. Why did he agree to do this? This is insane. “I’m going to ruin everything and the audience is going to hate me.”

Boyd shoots him an ugly look. “You’re only the prince, Stiles. You have maybe 5 lines. Relax.”

“Ten lines,” Stiles hisses back, but can’t hide the smile that takes over his face. After the incident with the hunters, Derek admitted that he had been afraid the pack wouldn’t like Stiles or would come on too strong and scare Stiles off. But to his relief, the pack and Stiles both had instantly connected. It was rough at first, Stiles having felt incredibly guilty that he brought the hunters to their work, but the others made it clear that they didn’t care. They adopted him into their pack as if he’d been a missing puzzle piece they’d been waiting for, and that was more than Stiles had ever expected.

Naturally, the next step in his and Derek’s relationship was for Stiles to join the Medieval Times cast.

A loud rumble of applause sounds through the doors and Stiles freezes in fear.

“That’s your cue, batman. Go get ‘em!” Erica sniggers, pushing him towards the black metal stairs. He travels up them shakily, stepping onto the balcony like he’s walking towards certain death. The royal purple curtain hides him from the audience and gives him one last moment to collect himself before he pushes it aside and strides confidently towards the golden railing at the edge of the balcony.  Lydia Martin stands next to him, giving him an appraising smirk.

“Ladies, gentlemen, and other genders, I introduce to you her Royal Highness, Queen Lydia, and the man whose hand our lovely knights will be competing for— Prince Stiles!” Laura bellows and the crowd goes into a frenzy, their shouts, cheers, and claps are overwhelming. Stiles laughs at the intensity of it all— he never thought he would have a life like this: a loving boyfriend, a pack to protect him, a job and a home to call his own. It’s so much more than he ever expected, had ever dared to dream of.

“Knights, form a line so I may bestow upon you your roses,” Stiles announces. He grabs he bouquet of pale pink and white roses from his throne and reaches over the railing, dropping rose upon rose to each of the knights. It’s tradition that the prince or princess gives the knights a flower that they may give to any member of the audience of their choosing.

Stiles snorts when he spots Isaac and Allison, the white and green knight respectively, bickering comically over them both wanting to give their rose to Scott, who looks completely entranced by the two of them.

Cora, Boyd, and Erica all give their roses out to excited children and charmed seniors in different sections of the arena. Stiles’s heart melts at their happy smiles. The sound of a throat clearing below him startles him for a moment, worrying that he may have missed a line or cue already. He leans over the balcony railing, peering down to see Derek lifting his rose up to Stiles in offering.

“A flower, for me? You’re letting down many fans right now, breaking many hopeful hearts in the audience,” Stiles says cheekily, hoping his mic has been turned off for the moment. He’s sure he must be blushing as he takes the flower, twirling it in his fingers and smiling softly.

Derek shrugs. “You’re the only one I wanted to give it to,” He winks, riding off to the middle of the ring where the other knights are listening to Laura recite the rules of the competition.

“You’re really lucky you know,” Lydia says to him when Stiles takes his seat on the throne next to hers. 

Stiles beams back at her, bringing the flower to his nose. “Believe me, I know.”

Lydia’s face softens and she brushes her hand over Stiles’s hair in an affectionate gesture. She turns back towards the arena. “He is too.”

Stiles smiles, pleased as he watches the knights ride around the ring, cheering and riling up the audience before they compete.

He brings his hand up, absently touching the ring dangling by his heart as he focuses on Derek. He’s smirking up at Stiles from the center of the ring, looking cocky and sure of himself despite the fact that he’s supposed to be the first knight to lose today. Stiles blows him a kiss, laughing when Derek rolls his eyes and turns away.

He could get used to a life like this.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Comments and Kudos are always appreciated.
> 
> You can find me on [tumblr](http://www.teenshmolf.tumblr.com) where I post fic updates, sterek, and sometimes ficlets. (Or just subscribe to me here and receive updates of my future fics~)


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